


Awake in the Dark

by HueyNomure



Series: Through Shining Eyes [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Magic: Expanded Multiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 17:25:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HueyNomure/pseuds/HueyNomure
Summary: A creature awakens alone on a cool floor. Who are they? They don't know either.





	Awake in the Dark

I am lying prone. My breath is regular, the beating of my heart at the edge of hearing. Hundreds of books are abandoned in heaps on the floor, and farther than them two high structures tower above me. Bookshelves. I can picture them clearly, but my eyes are still closed. Curious. The floor is smooth and cool under my body; I am naked. Odd. Where am I? How did I get here? My memory is failing me.

I open my eyes; the darkness is absolute. And yet everything around me becomes clear: the blue marble and alabaster floor, each letter engraved on the cover of each book, the precise shape of every single page just at the edge of my perception. Keeping my eyes open is tiring; weakness weights my eyelids down.

 

* * *

 

I feel less tired now, but the emptiness in my stomach is uncomfortable.

All four arms struggle painfully when I lift my chest from the floor. My whole body aches. Which direction should I choose? I cannot sense the room's walls, they are too distant. The floor and the bookshelves seem solid, I am too weak to climb; only two possibilities remain.

I may have passed out while walking. Running, perhaps. Walking toward what? Running from what? Too possible variables involved in my unconsciousness and probable amnesia: the pursuit of this trail of thoughts seems futile. In either case, moving in the same direction is the most reasonable option. Barely.

I stumble when I step forward; the pain increases. My feet feel heavy and cumbersome. I approach the left bookshelf until both my left hands can rest on it. It makes proceeding easier.

The bookshelf ends after a few minutes of walking. My current path is crossed by another one. Still no light. No sound either, except for the ones I am making. The new path, perpendicular to my current one, separates countless regular couples of bookshelves. There is nothing noteworthy on that path, and I still cannot sense a wall: there is no reason to change my direction and wander aimlessly. Walking without something to lean on is hard, but I make it to the next bookshelf.

Once my walk falls in a slow but steady rhythm I focus my attention on the ceiling. A series of crystals is set in the stone vault to form a complex arabesque. A weak trace of mana glimmers from them. Exhausted light sources? They would probably reactivate with a little infusion of mana, but I am tired and the dark does not hinder me. The pattern of the crystals feels soothing. Very soothing.

 

* * *

 

There is a wall before me; I did not notice it approaching, I must have lost track of time.

Before the wall seven low bookshelves form a square, within which six writing desks have been positioned in two precise rows. On the opposite side of the square, three mahogany doors beckon.

The pain has diminished: I can walk around the central bookshelf without leaning on it. On its middle, a bookstand hosts a thick volume. On its cover is engraved “000 - Introduction and Master Index”. Promising, but there will be time to read later. Hopefully.

Above the three doors, a set of four glyphs are inscribed on the wall. Under each glyph it is written “years”, “days”, “hours”, “minutes” and under those four inscriptions “since the Azure Vault was finished”. Time-keeping glyphs; they probably displayed glowing numbers. Their magic is expired as well... would it be possible to extrapolate the numbers they were showing when the enchantment wore out, and how much time has passed since that day? With an error of a year or twenty. Marginally useful.

Doubts surface as I approach the doors. Is it wise to wander around naked? Have I got other sensible options? I lay a hand on the leftmost door and focus on the other side. No vibration, no sign of magic; nothing alive in the next room. I hesitate before the central double door; I will try the other small one on the right first.

No vibration, a trace of blue magic seeps through the door. Something to check out later.

I breathe deeply, and face the double door. I cautiosly put a hand after another on the polished wood, projecting my senses on the other side. At first the silence seems absolute, then a whisper. Then a dozen more, a thousand voices echoing at an impossible distance; countless sounds, auras, smells, tastes and other indefinite perceptions, coming from all directions and none at the same time, luring my conscience further away…

Panic makes me retreat hastily. The whirl of sensations seemed familiar, but dangerous. My hands are shaking; I have less conscious control of my body than presumed.

I open the rightmost door; a spiral staircase leads below. Still no sign of life.

The room below is claustrophobic, if compared to the huge library. Also more cold and humid. My body seems to gladly accept the change. The walls are lined with tall chests, apparently the source of the cold. I lay a hand upon one of them. No magical traps.

A small cloud of cold air rolls to the ground when I open it a few inches. Within the chest, a stock of dried meat and a cheese wheel. The magical aura comes from the walls of the chest, lined with little cyan crystals.

After few seconds of contemplation, I recognize the Eternal Ice. The owner of this place used a fabled item to conserve common food. Efficient, yet very extravagant. A little sacrilegious, even. I realize I am smiling at the idea.

A growling from my stomach makes me grab two handfuls of dried meat. It is bad form to steal, but it would be even a worse form to be found dead in a stranger’s mansion. Probably. The meat is still frozen; keeping it against my chest will warm it.

The room has two doors; they both lead to the strange sensory kaleidoscope. There is something wrong with this place.

It is time to go through the leftmost door of the library. Another spiral staircase leading down; the builder understandably liked symmetry.

A bed, a night stand, an armoire and a little dry fountain. Two doors, leading to the kaleidoscope. They are the Blind Eternities. I am used to travel them, but they are dangerous to a weakened mind. Finally, some recollection.

I am a planeswalker; I travel the void between worlds. I can leave this place. A sigh of relief escapes my mouth. Another unconscious reaction; this is annoying.

There is no mirror, but I do not need it. My body has no hair, does not seem to be used to physical exercise, and my skin seems to be… blue. Vedalken? Yes, that is the right word. I am vedalken.

The armoire is mostly empty. The two sets of clothes are identical. I put a piece of cold meat in my mouth and leave the rest on the night stand.

The textures of the dark trousers and the white shirt feel good at the touch. Their quality seems high, but they are devoid of any decoration, as the heavy robe that goes with them: this is probably the room of a well-treated servant. The owner of this place is unlikely to grief over the loss of an uniform.

The weight of the clothes is comfortable, and the size is about right. The shirt and the robe also have holes to make my lower arms pass through. The owner of this clothes was a vedalken, and this explains the fit; my body shape is probably common among them. Us. Vedalken.

Was I the servant? Are planeswalkers usually servants? Sounds weird. Was I a servant here before my Spark ignited? Knowledge resurfaces: the ignition is usually triggered by trauma, that would explain amnesia, but there is no documented planeswalker that ended their first travel on the starting plane.

The rest of the meat quells my hunger. I feel thirst now, but I have little hope of finding fresh water here. My weakness feels less smothering; I may be able to travel the Eternities. But not before giving that book a read.

I approach the bookstand; I open the book, and I instantly take in the contents of the first page.

> Greetings, visitor, and welcome to the Azure Vault.
> 
> This is the magnum opus of the writer of this book and the creator of this demiplane, the Storyteller.
> 
> In this room you will find a collection of copies of books from a many planes, transcription of significant lore from oral cultures, my original work and a number of artifacts.
> 
> Some of this material is very dangerous, so it is stored within satellite microplanes; to access those items, go to their index entry. Please do not try to force them open: it will sever the connection between this plane, called Haven, and the microplanes, possibly making them permanently unavailable.
> 
> If you reached this place without my knowledge, please do not take away any item from here unless you believe it is in immediate risk of being damaged. In that eventuality, please take the time to leave a note to let me know what did you take, and where did you bring it.
> 
> If you are a young planeswalker in distress, please help yourself to the pantry you will find after taking the rightmost door behind you; fresh water from several secure planes will spring from the little fountains you will find in several locations here in the Haven.

The book goes on describing the articulated branch archiving used in the Vault and the little space warps used to allow a measure of nonlinear archiving; their collapsing explains the heaps of books on the floor.

The Storyteller. Of course, individuals need a name. Even this very room has one. Have I got one? I search for familiar phonemes. Femath. Erup. Aymas. Hemas. L’fim. Eluphee…

Yes. This sounds right. Even familiar.

Elphimas.


End file.
